


you wanna find love then you know where the city is

by someplacewarm



Series: birds of a feather [2]
Category: Batgirl (Comics), Batman (Comics), Under the Red Hood
Genre: Barbara Gordon & Dick Grayson Friendship, Barbara Gordon in a Wheelchair, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Family Bonding, Family Feels, Fix-It, Gen, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Past Character Death, Pre-New 52, babs sorts jason's shit out, people also talk about death so like...proceed with caution, psst it's jason, sort of - rebirth doesnt happen in this fic, very minutely for only a split second, violence doesn't HAPPEN but past violence is talked about in some gory detail
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:08:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21918850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someplacewarm/pseuds/someplacewarm
Summary: At the end of a grueling nightmare, Jason steps out for a reprieve from how he's been treating himself and drags himself to group therapy.One session and a chance meeting with Barbara Gordon later, things might finally be looking up for Jason.
Relationships: Barbara Gordon & Jason Todd
Series: birds of a feather [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1570924
Comments: 11
Kudos: 108





	1. jason

**Author's Note:**

> This work is a part of the series ['birds of a feather'](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1570924) and while technically it kind of works as a standalone, I would recommend reading the first part for a better understanding.
> 
> Title is from 'The City' by the 1975.

The crunch of asphalt beneath Jason’s boots made him uncomfortable. Winter in Gotham meant workers would halt all construction until it was summer again, leaving the roads and buildings half done and moldy. He didn’t blame them; it was damn near freezing. But the insistent _crunch_ , step after step only reminded him of nightmares from the night before. 

He turned a corner, crossing a tiny newsstand on display. Buildings on this block were all the same, gray and uniform – the only life coming from people bustling in and out of them in their colorful winter wear. 

Bones shattering, the crowbar coming down on his ribs…

Jason swallowed, a wet block not smooth enough to go all the way down his throat. It made him feel icky. Above him, a streetlight dripped an occasional beat of water on the shoulder of his leather jacket. It was too small to seep in, but it made him shiver nonetheless. 

He knew he was where he was supposed to be. Looking up at the dirty, tattered sign only confirmed it. _‘Joker’s Survivors Support Group – A Safe Place for Lives Marked By Tragedy’_ it read. Tragedy was one way of putting it. The sign was almost blown away by howling, blustery winds. Winds that sounded almost like a laugh. 

He felt a warm hand on the middle of his back startle him. 

“Oh, I’m sorry dear,” said an old woman, about half his size. “Didn’t mean to scare ya.” 

Jason smiled and shook his head for a lack of better words. He thought that would reassure her, keep her moving along, but she only stood there beside him and turned her gaze up to the sign he was looking at. “I’ve been trying to get the Mayor to spare a few funds for years now to no avail.” She shrugged. “Guess he’s busy.” 

“I guess so.” Jason replied, feeling his gut coil with formidable tension. He didn’t really know what he was thinking, showing up here like this out of the blue. He’d woken up last night with a particularly disturbing nightmare – memory, rather – and spent the rest of the night aimlessly surfing the web when he came across a poster for the support group. He wished he could say it was one of those things where his feet dragged him unconsciously – like characters would do in a novel or something – but taking a shower, making breakfast, putting on his hoodie and coming here instead of going for his run seemed like a pretty deliberate decision. 

“Don’t let appearances fool you, honey,” the lady said, giving his wrist a squeeze. “You’ll find some of the most compassionate and empathetic people inside, than in all of Gotham.” Jason grinned. That wasn’t too much of a metric to go by, but seeing her expectant face made him realize he didn’t have much of a choice anymore.

He followed her into the basement of the building, where a handful of people were gathered. Uncomfortable looking metal chairs were placed in the center of the room, apart from which were two tables with snacks and coffee – probably from the nearby Eastside Deli. People were talking in hushed tones, even if there weren’t any signs that asked for silence. Some women were hugging and others hung back in the shadows, looking just as awkward as Jason.

“I’m Marianne, by the way,” the woman said, like it was an afterthought. 

Jason hesitated for a moment. Then, “Jason.” It was probably stupid of him – giving out his real name like that – but looking around the room told him not many of these people seemed like a threat to personal security. 

“It was nice to meet you, Jason,” Marianne beamed, her eyes sparkling with some sort of unspoken sympathy. It both made Jason want to die and brought back that unsteady, scratchy feeling at the back of his throat. “Help yourself to some coffee and do stick around for the session.” 

She didn’t wait for his response, as she walked away to another group, presumably to tell them the same thing. So, he grabbed himself a cup of coffee – black – and sat down on one of the chairs at the farthest end of the group. There weren’t that many people; fifteen ordinary citizens from a very mixed demographic. The oldest was Marianne, probably in her sixties. The youngest seemed to be about only seven or eight years old, with white, crescent scars around his mouth and jaw muscles drooping slightly whenever he spoke. Classic Joker Venom scars. Jason clenched his fist in the inner pocket of his jacket, feeling hot flashes of rage spike through his chest. 

One by one, people began filling up the chairs all around him. He observed that these people were regular, ordinary people, but the closer he eyed them the more he could see telltale signs – scars, burns, impairments, post-surgery indentations on skin. And the ones who had no physical marks had a sadness about their eyes. A weight that couldn’t wash away, presenting as wrinkles and downturned smiles. 

And then, they began talking. 

A girl named Anissa went first. She was relatively young, probably in her thirties. She talked about her wife and mother-in-law being affected by a widespread Joker gas attack three years ago. How her mother-in-law had passed last year. How her wife was still in a coma, recovering. Then others began speaking. Mothers, daughters, fathers, friends, _sons_...

“My name is Mark…”

Jason averted his eyes, taking a sip from his coffee. It tasted rich, bitter. It burned his tongue with purpose, like it was trying to incite something, _anything_ out of him.

“My name is Priya…”

Somewhere inside of him, the Pit rattled around like juice sloshing in a carton. He felt it slow, like it had detected the burn and was working its way upwards to fix it. It warmed him – in a feverish, rather than comforting way – in the cold, dim lit basement. He sniffed, an inconsequential noise in a room of full-blown tears and outright sobs. 

_My name is Jason,_ he thought. _Murdered by the goddamn Joker at age fifteen. Hadn’t even had a first kiss, written the SATs, gotten a drivers’ license...but sure – old enough to be bashed to death with a crowbar by a murderous psychopath._

“My name is Max,” the little boy spoke. 

Jason sighed. Here he was, feeling both a sense of foreboding and oneness at the same time with these random people. People who had lives and families before the Joker, just like him. And what was he doing? What had he _done_ to avenge himself and countless others? 

“The J-Joker killed my parents,” the boy mumbled, his chin wobbling despite his bravest attempts to hold it together. 

Jason winced. It was almost cathartic, if not painful, hearing others put into words the suffering of his own. How Batman didn’t save them either. While it felt empathetic, it also felt distant. These people suffered the war at the borders, the edges...Jason died at the very epicentre. He had been involved to a point where there was no turning back. 

_My name is Robin,_ he thought, watching the muddy coffee remnants swirl around the bottom of his cup. _I died a soldier in Batman’s war._

“Would anyone else like to speak?” Marianne piped up, after a few moments of silence. It was quiet, but there was a sense of solidarity among the group. Like they weren’t alone in this mess of a situation. Marianne looked at Jason directly in the eye but Jason looked down at his jeans. At the little tears in the seams. He tugged at it with his finger, feeling Alfred already chastising him from wherever he was. He pointedly avoided eye contact. His eyes felt itchy, like there were tears threatening to flow but couldn’t quite find the push they needed. 

He remembered the feeling of a section of his brains exposed, after parts of his skull had come off. The stinging of his flesh. Tears in his eyes, hope in his heart. Robin was always about that – hope, lightness to the dark and all that. Until the light was snuffed out and there was just darkness left. Death. 

“Thank you all for coming down here this morning,” Marianne said, her warbling voice floating across the room. “While the fight is long and hard, while the losses are many...it brings me comfort to know we have a good few fighters left. This isn’t about him. It isn’t about the GCPD or Batman or any of the long list of people trying to do some good to this city. It’s about us. Survivors, not victims.” 

“Survivors, not victims,” the group replied in unison. 

As they began to disperse, Jason rose from his chair, managing to find a discreet route out of the building amidst the rattling of old chairs and murmurs of people.

“Jason!” Marianne called out. Jason stopped, waiting for her to catch up with him, shoving both hands into his pockets. He braced himself for the upcoming hallmark card-esque inspiration boosters or requests for him to share his story next week or whatever but she simply handed him a sheet of paper instead. 

He raised an eyebrow. 

“A few years ago, the Joker went to trial for a few murders across the state,” Marianne began, as Jason began to read the paper. “The Post Stamp Murders, they were calling it?”

Jason shook his head. “I, uh, left the city for a few years. Haven’t really kept up with his shindigs, if I’m being honest with you.” 

“Well the details of the murder are irrelevant. It turns out he was framed by another bunch of up-to-no-gooders,” Marianne continued. “But the case was significant because that was the first time we managed to drag him to trial and make a case for the death penalty.” 

“Let me guess,” Jason said, biting his lip down forcefully. “The Batman stopped you.” 

“Well, yes,” Marianne replied hurriedly, like Batman was the least of her concerns. Jason wished he could say the same. “But we haven’t given up just yet. Though capital punishment is still quite abolished in the state of New Jersey, we’re working on a petition of sorts that we plan to run all the way to the White House for a – well – execution.” 

“We?” Jason asked, already taking the pen she held out for him. 

“Citizens of Gotham Against Joker, of course,” she replied as a matter-of-fact. “We’ve got lawyers, student unions and even policemen on board among other influential people. Heck, we’ve even reached out to Bruce Wayne for support!”

“Good luck with that,” Jason muttered, tacking his signature at the end of the petition. 

“I just wanted to spread the word,” Marianne said, gripping his wrist again. “We’re fighting the good fight here and I’d love to see you join us at one of our rallies. You can always keep up with our work on our Twitter and Facebook pages – here let me give you a card…” she fished out a card from her purse with a tiny graphic of the Joker’s head on a noose printed boldly on the side. “Stay in touch and spread the word!” She bundled off to other people emerging from the building, cards in hand. 

He didn’t know if this committee would really make a difference, but Marianne’s hope was almost infectious. It even brought on a tiny smile to his face, seeing the woman collect other Gothamites for her cause. It almost made him feel proud of his city, as rare as that was these days. For all the gutter rats, it seemed like there were enough good people too, walking around maskless, helmetless and capeless. Just regular people wanting to “fight the good fight.” 

Jason pocketed the card carefully in his wallet, between his fake drivers’ license and wads of cash. It was almost noon, people going about their day to lunch. Jason pulled his hood over his head. Outside, it had become slightly brighter, rays of sun piercing through the stormy-looking clouds. 

How metaphorical, Jason thought, making his way uptown.


	2. barbara

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on [tumblr.](arkhamknightwing.tumblr.com)

The library was nearly empty during afternoons, with most people out for lunch or working. The only people who visited during those hours were mothers trying to inculcate reading habits in their children, or people who had nowhere else to be. 

Barbara was neither of those. She was here at the Gotham Public Library testing out a new Data Re-entry and Organization program she helped develop a few weeks ago and the librarian had gracefully left her to do her bidding and gone to lunch. A cursory glance over the room only confirmed the lull in the establishment. A mother and her twins walked into the children’s section hand-in-hand, the mother shushing her kids every now and then. An old man had fallen asleep at one of the work tables. Yet towards the far end of the Classical Literature section, Barbara saw a familiar figure. 

Tall, wearing jeans and a jet-black leather jacket to match his scruffy hair, he looked like just about any other Gotham University student. In fact, Barbara knew the city was rife with black-haired, blue-eyed men – she’d seen enough of them over the years. Yet...he was too far to confirm her suspicion. Besides, if she had seen him, then he had definitely seen her. She shook her head and returned to the computer which was alerting her to input new entries. 

Minutes later, she heard the self-checkout counter beep. Then– 

“You know, I’m a little hurt you didn’t come by to say hi,” Jason remarked, clutching a book in one hand, running the other through his hair. He had grown a lot taller, bulkier. His hands had tiny scars that Babs knew all too well where they came from. His eyes were still blue, but a lot greener, like the Pit was just one of those bad dye jobs that wouldn’t come off. His hair was still the same, but the curls that once framed a heart shape around his face were now just sharp and choppy. She had seen him once he had returned from the dead – only a few times, pertaining to various cases they needed his help on. But she had never seen him without the helmet. It was strange how much he’d grown. He looked nervous, but also sort of pleased. 

Huh. Of all the things he could be, Barbara didn’t think Jason Todd would be happy to see her. 

“I didn’t think you’d want to be disturbed,” Barbara replied. “Given your track record with people like me.” She glanced around the library. There was no one around to listen, but they couldn’t be too safe. Bats, she could have said. But she knew he got the memo, given the way his eyes darkened at the mention of them. 

“Librarians or women?” Jason asked, faux casual, with a smirk. “You know I respect both.” 

“Ever the dolt.” Barbara rolled her eyes. “What are you doing here, Jason?”

“Just about what everyone else does in a library,” Jason said, waving his arm around the room. “Borrowing a book. Did you know that library cards still function post-death? That was a welcome surprise.” He held out his exclusive member card for her to see, the words ‘Jason Peter Todd’ written in simple, white font above his card number. It left a strange feeling in Barbara’s chest, knowing they’d kept it after all these years in pristine condition. There were people who she’d see coming in, regular customers, who’d always misplace it somewhere, somehow. And here were the Waynes, holding on to something for someone they had no idea would return. 

“So, you’ve been talking to Alfred?” Barbara asked, leaning forward curiously. She’d heard from the others how he still met Alfred for brunch religiously, every Sunday. The fact stood out like a sore thumb from all the other uncaring, unfeeling things he had done in the past two years alone. 

“I’ve always been talking to Alfred,” Jason replied. “It’s Bruce that’s new.” 

Barbara raised her eyebrows. That she had heard too, which had immensely surprised her. Bruce had not been the most happy when the Red Hood had struck terror in the city – in the family. But looking at him now, standing in front of her like they’d seen each other just yesterday, she didn’t blame him. Deep down, they’d all missed him, regardless of the shit that came after. 

“And,” Jason continued, shoving his hands in his leather jacket’s pockets and and looking down at his feet, like he was hesitant. Looking all but twelve years old and in trouble for pissing off Batman. “I guess I was hoping I could add you into the mix, too.” 

Before Barbara could reply, she noticed Julie, the librarian, come back in. She smiled at Jason, and then took her spot beside Barbara again. “Friend of yours, Barb?” Julie asked, conversationally, tucking a strand of hair behind her ears, as she began turning on the library computers again.  
“I guess we’ll have to find out,” Barbara murmured, eyeing Jason, who was looking down at the book he was holding. She grabbed her coat from the desk and placed it onto her lap before wheeling out of the little cubby. “I’m off to lunch, Julie. Watch my things for me.” 

-

The place Jason had brought them to had a neat little red ramp on the outside that opened into a 50s themed bakery a few buildings down from the library. It smelled like fresh strawberry jam and the floors were wiped so clean, she could see her reflection in the tiles. The bakery was one of the countless new businesses that kept opening in the city, only to shut down a few weeks later. She had seen it on her way to the library and often chuckled at the ridiculous coffee combinations they kept scrawling on the chalkboards outside.

They found a corner facing the window at the back of the store and Jason helped her into a comfortable, velvety armchair before adjusting the gun in his belt and sitting down opposite her. 

“Safety measures?” she asked, looking at the menu. Friends often said she had a ‘mom’ voice but she had never found that to be particularly true – until she started talking to Robins, of course. 

“Accessories,” he replied casually. “You should try the 5 Cs.” He pointed at the menu, before resting his hands on the table. 

“I’m good.” Barbara replied curtly, handing the menu back without a glance. 

Before either of them could say a word, an overenthusiastic waiter stepped into view. They ordered two black coffees and a walnut muffin for Barbara, almost hastily, before relapsing into an uneasy silence. Across the table from her was a stranger. She knew there was always something different about Jason, but she’d always boiled it down to teenage rage when she was younger. The man sitting across from her was so far from Bruce, far from everything they’d tried to work towards. But beneath the hood – here in plain clothes – Jason looked withdrawn. Vulnerable. Alone. Her father often said that experience made a good detective spot cruelty in the eyes of a perpetrator. You can almost always tell if he’s killed someone, he’d say, by the look in his eyes when he talks to you. 

Right now, Barbara doubted whether that was really true. All she saw in Jason’s eyes were exhaustion. A lack of sleep. 

“You know for a guy that’s supposedly all grown up, you dress exactly like who you wanted to be as a kid,” Babs said, as a way of breaking the ice. It was strange, sitting here with him for the first time since he was a teenager. It was a miracle how she felt anger and sympathy in equal intensity. “Wannabe punk rock rebel with a cause. Except I don’t really think you have a cause this time around.” 

“Yeah?” Jason challenged. “You don’t think I have a cause?”

“You kill people,” Barbara shot back calmly. “I think that’s called murder.” 

“So _that’s_ why there’s animosity,” Jason said, leaning back in his chair. “And here I was thinking you didn’t agree with my choices in fashion.” 

The waiter returned, placing their coffees in front of them. It was like he was impervious to the tension in the air. 

“Alfred might have moved on,” Babs said, watching the waiter retreat. “And from what the others tell me, so has Bruce. But my memory is intact and I remember what you did. How you tried to kill Tim, nearly hurt Damian, actively murdered people. You want to sweep the past under the rug, you’re gonna have to address it first.” 

“I’ve done things I regret, Babs,” Jason said, sounding genuine for the first time since their encounter at the library. He didn’t look at her, twisting tissue paper in his hands instead. “And I atone for them in my own ways. But there are some things that have happened – things I’ve seen and done that I can’t erase.” He looked up; his eyes hollow. “There’s some shit I can’t…”

He shook his head, like he either couldn’t explain or didn’t want to. “I told Bruce I’d give things a second chance, but I think we both,” he took a sip from his coffee and set it down, staring out the window. “I think we underestimated the challenges of our relationship. I wanted to be his kid again so bad, I didn’t realize that I can’t have that without giving up my way of justice. And I can’t have that without dealing with shit from my past in a way where I don’t bleed on other people.” 

“I don’t understand,” Barbara interjected. “Jason, what the hell happened to you?”

“I died, Babs,” Jason replied flatly. “In case you’ve been living under a rock –”

“I know that, smartass,” she quipped. “What I don’t understand is why you don’t come to us for help. Why you insist on doing things your way when you know just as well that the results are pretty much the same as ours. The Jason I knew nearly clipped of a man’s hand for taking a swing at me. He cared about us. Trusted us. Help us fix you, Jason. Bruce –”

“My own mother betrayed me to the Joker in Ethiopia!” Jason snapped. “You want to talk about trust? Let's talk about how Bruce left me. Left me dead and unavenged!” Barbara thanked her lucky stars the bakery was empty, spare the waiter who was pretending not to listen. 

“He lost you,” she corrected, gently, taking his hand. “Mourned you. We all did. As for your mother –”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Jason finished, crossing his arms stubbornly. Barbara could almost chuckle at how _Jason_ that was, if her heart wasn’t hurting for him instead. 

“Then let's not talk about it,” Barbara agreed. She had a few hunches, anyhow, that she could confirm on her own without forcing it out of Jason. “But Jason, you can’t make Bruce do something he can’t do to prove his love for you.”

“I get that!” Jason spat, slamming his hand on the table. “But after he refused to do it, he refused to let me do it too.” He took out his wallet and tossed a card towards Barbara. “Babs, there are people – families he’s broken. Eight-year olds having to live with permanent scars on their faces. Orphans, widows...you of all people know what it’s like to be- to be broken by him. He’s ripped lives apart but the second I put a bullet between a pedophile’s eyes, I’m suddenly the problem.”

“You’re definitely not the solution either, Jason,” Barbara picked up the card. She got Jason’s point – hell, on difficult days she was secretly relieved when she read the news and saw a disgusting criminal permanently wiped off the streets by the Red Hood. She waved the card at him “I see Marianne’s got to your head.” 

“She’s got a point.” Jason argued. His disposition made more sense now, if he really did visit a support group this morning. Barbara had been to some herself and remembered feeling both drained and better after. 

“And I agree,” Barbara interrupted. “But unlike you, she’s planning to do it by the book. With the support of people like us behind her. She’s doing a damn good job at it too, all while staying on the right side of the law.” 

“The _system_ doesn’t work,” Jason huffed, brushing his hair back with his fingers. “And Bruce expects me to believe that it does.” 

“The system works when we put our faith into it, kiddo,” Barbara said. “When we _make_ the system work.” 

Jason leaned forward. “And you honestly believe that? After everything you’ve been through – the pain, the rage, the hopelessness – you think the system’s gonna give you what you want?”

“I’d like to believe so, yes.” Barbara replied, groaning internally at how much she sounded like Bruce. “What do _you_ want?”

“I want the Joker dead.” Jason replied, staring at her deadset and determined in his gaze. “By the book or not, I know you wouldn’t miss him much either.” Barbara had almost forgotten how manipulative he could be. How he could crawl under someone’s skin and just push them to rebel. Under the right circumstances, he’d have been a good mentor. If they had had time, Babs herself could have seen to it. 

“The kid I knew had other aspirations too,” Barbara reminded him, gently. She reached out for his hand. “For himself. Not for the vendetta.” Jason perked up, like he was going to say something but she held a finger up. “And don’t you dare say that kid is dead, edgelord. We all remember how hard you were working towards your goals.” 

He was barely fourteen, half her size, but he’d take every opportunity to remind her how much he looked forward to college. She hadn’t known him too well, then. Made some assumptions about why he’d wanted to go. 

_“College is a lot more than frat hazing, girls and alcohol, you know.”_ she had told him, chastising almost. She could never forget how disturbed he had looked at her suggestion. Like the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. That experience had taught Barbara never to assume anything about a kid’s disposition based on their past. It was a tiny memory, but something she recalled a lot after his death. At fourteen, he was full of surprises. At twenty-two, that hadn’t changed. 

“I wanted a degree,” Jason mumbled, running a finger over the edge of his coffee cup. Her own coffee had grown cold and gross, considering she hadn’t touched it since it arrived. “From Brown.”

“Rhode Island,” Barbara smiled, remembering how often they’d argue about it. “Bruce wanted you closer to home.” 

“So he could keep a tight leash on me,” Jason grumbled. “Fucking typical. Dick got to go where he wanted to but I had to choose between Princeton or Harvard.” 

“Careful there, rich boy,” Barbara chided. “You’re starting to sound a little spoiled.” 

“Bruce’s fault for being a helicopter parent.”

“Sure,” Barbara replied, grinning. “It’s not that empty nest syndrome for his first kid made him want to keep his second one around closer for a lot longer or anything.” 

Jason flushed, staring down at his fingers. “He knew going into this that I wasn’t a puppet. That I’d cut any strings pulling at me too hard.” 

Barbara wondered if that’s what happened in the weeks leading up to his death. Bruce and Alfred had always been so quiet about the _before_ and _during_. It was only the _after_ that fell on all their shoulders. 

“You can have it again, you know,” Barbara suggested. “Nothing stopping you from applying for the spring semester.” 

“Sure,” Jason chuckled. “Jason Todd – rabid Robin, rageful Red Hood, college student.” 

“If Dick and Tim could go to college, then anyone can,” Barbara scoffed. “God knows your dad can afford it.”

“Oh, they went alright,” Jason said, taking out his wallet to pay the bill. “They just never graduated.” He slapped a few notes down on the table and stood up. “Besides, I’m not keen on leaving home for the time being.” 

“Gotham State’s definitely above average right now,” Barbara said, adjusting her wheelchair as she descended the armchair. “It’s gotten really great over the last few years.” 

“I don’t remember you being this persuasive,” Jason said, looking over his shoulder at her. “Or maybe that’s just a Pit thing.” They left the bakery and hit the street again, warm sunshine embracing them, casting long shadows over the pavement. 

“It’s a Jason-being-stupid thing,” Barbara argued. “Going to university will give you a chance at normalcy. Real goals and objectives to work towards. I have a lot of contacts there from when I was an assistant professor there. Say the word and I can consider writing your recommendation.” 

“Wow, uh,” Jason muttered. “Thanks Babs.”

“Not so fast,” Barbara said, turning towards him. “I can help you out on the condition that you give this killing act up for a few months and try it our way.” Barbara knew he was very capable of getting in on his own and finding other people to write his letter but she also knew if there was a shot at salvaging his soul, it was partly her responsibility to take it. She had never _really_ been a mentor to him, but she still felt like she owed it to him. “I’m serious, Jason.” 

Jason sighed, shaking his head. “You know I always liked you the best in the family –”

“That’s factually incorrect. We all know it was Alfred –”

“– and I still love and respect you,” Jason said. “I know you mean well, Babs. I know you care. You went to my funeral, too, unlike Dick.” 

Barbara frowned, but it was probably futile to point out that his brother was off-world at the time. That was something they’d have to talk about among themselves. She’d give Dick a heads-up though, considering how thick-headed and stubborn both boys were. 

“But every time I’ve let myself have something,” Jason continued. “It’s gone to shit. I’ve lost my family once by my own doing. I’d rather stay away than lose them – and you – again.”

“Let me guess,” Barbara said cautiously. “The last time. You’re talking about your mother.”

Jason nodded. “I was really happy to see her,” he said. “Let my imagination get the best of me. I kinda thought we’d go back home together or something. She ratted out my location to the Joker.” He bit his lip, choosing to go behind Barbara and push her chair instead, even though she was capable of doing it herself. She shook her head. All the boys did this, more often than not. It was their idea of a trick to hide their faces. “Guess the only ever real family I had after my step-mom was Bruce.”

Barbara swallowed. There was a time when she had told Bruce that Jason was just a normal teenager with raging hormones. She had trusted her gut in that assessment. After his death, the narrative had shifted. Jason had become the disobedient child, not the one who died trying to save his birth mother. She had gone with it, despite knowing him. Knowing that beneath the boy with a so-called mean streak was just a vulnerable child, just like all of them had been. 

“See me Thursday,” Barbara instructed him. “Have Alfred mark it on your calendar during this week’s brunch – yes, they still keep a calendar for you, don’t give me that look – and we’ll go over your college applications together.” 

“I - I guess? Yeah, okay.” Jason still seemed surprised that the only thing stopping him, virtually, from wading back to semi-normalcy was himself. Barbara shook her head. The day men could finally get better at comprehending their own life choices would be a bright day indeed for the Waynes. 

“And I’m calling Dick to fix a meeting with you. So you two can put water under the bridge and finally _talk._ ” 

“Babs, no –”

“I can’t hear you, Jason, have a nice day.” she said, pressing onto that handy little accelerator button she kept near her foot. She could see Jason’s silhouette get smaller and smaller as she approached the library. 

Once she got there, she decided she would write a very loving and grateful email to Marianne Johnson for inadvertently making things fall into place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some lines are from the Arkham Knight game so if you find that familiar, then kudos! Troy Baker is an amazing Jason Todd.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! You can find me on [tumblr.](https://arkhamknightwing.tumblr.com/)


End file.
